“You owe nothing!”
“I think I do. It has made me work—”
“I don't want that. You must find pleasure in the work itself, not in paying my—er—debts, Thomas.”
“Your debts are my debts,” said Tommy, firmly. “And I do love the work. I want to do it. If I—even if I didn't feel I owed a penny, I'd still want to work in Dayton under Thompson, who will surely make me into a man.”
“I think you are that already, Thomas.” Mr. Leigh's voice quavered so that Tommy took a step toward him. “If you continue as you have begun”—Mr. Leigh's voice was now steady, almost cold—“I shall be quite satisfied, Thomas.”
“I'll do my best, father,” said Tommy, fully as firmly. “I'll write you regularly and keep you informed of my progress. My work is of a peculiar character, and I can't always be sure I'm making good. As a matter of fact,” he added, in a burst of frankness, “I'm merely getting paid for being one of Thompson's Experiments, as they call us at the works.”
“He is an unusual man. If his experiments should prove successful—” The old man paused to look sternly at his only son.
“He says they always do,” smiled Tommy, reassuringly.
“I pray so, my son,” said Mr. Leigh, quietly.
“Th' aut'mobile is out there,” announced Maggie.